


The First Star I See

by threemeows



Series: Close My Eyes and Believe [3]
Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before Series - Jenny Han, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 02:27:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18562069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threemeows/pseuds/threemeows
Summary: May not be a starCant do a thing but waitSo let's wait for one moreMore alternate universe ski trip shenanigans. Directly picks up from "If I Don't Let Myself Be Happy Then When?"





	The First Star I See

**Author's Note:**

> Some lines are taken directly from the movie and the book.

Lara Jean flops down on her bed – stares up at the ceiling for a moment, counting the popcorn pattern, before she gives up and turns to look at the bedside digital clock. 11:57 pm. It took her – what? – three minutes to get back to her room, if that. So Peter should be done by 12:04.

 

The clock blinks to 11:58.

 

“Screw it,” she mutters, and gets out of bed, finds her coat. She texts Chris, _Hope you’re okay_ , but doesn’t expect a response. She wouldn’t be surprised if Chris doesn’t come back to the room at all – she and Charlie were going at it like bunnies at the party. Then Lara Jean shrugs into her coat and heads out.

 

She takes the fire exit stairs, to avoid any chaperones – curfew is at 12:00. There’s no way she can put her feet up by the main hall fireplace – not that she’d want to, at this point – and the staff would most definitely kick her out of the lodge restaurant. So she takes a side exit and ends up outside, taking a path to somewhere.

 

The flagstones are cleared of snow, but her shoes crunch along leftover ice and salt. Everything is almost painfully quiet, the only sound are her footsteps. The moon is big and full, and the sky is full of stars – so much more than at home, thousands of them, maybe millions, tiny white and blue and yellow dots, all twinkling.

 

A sudden streak in the black velvet makes her pause. “Wow,” she breathes, momentarily forgetting everything at the sight of a shooting star. She turns, looks around – she’s made it to the pond. A big sign by the dock fairly yells, STOP! WARNING! NO SKATING UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. Lara Jean walks past the sign, down the dock. At the end, she can see the pond is only frozen around the edges – the center is a big gaping black hole of deeper water.

 

Depressing. She’s about as good a skater as she is at snowboarding, but as a kid she’d adored Michelle Kwan and of course who _doesn’t_ love the ShibSibs and Nathan Chen and duh, Yu-Na Kim?

 

She sits down at the edge of the dock, hugs her legs to her chest for warmth. She looks up at the sky again, looking for another shooting star. Maybe it wasn’t one. Maybe it was her imagination, her pretending to see something that wasn’t there at all.

 

Pretending . . .

 

In her pocket, her phone buzzes, and keeps buzzing. Lara Jean hesitates before digging into her coat pocket. “Hey, where are you?” Peter says, before she can even say hello. She pauses, wondering if she should even bother. “Covey?”

 

Something is stuck on her hand. Curious, she pulls the scrap of notebook paper out. It’s one of Peter’s notes, that she’d saved from the bus trip and stuffed back into her pockets. She’d forgotten they were in there.

 

_Can you take the bus home today? I want to surprise Kitty and pick her up from school so she can show me and my car off to her friends._

Kitty must’ve been so thrilled . . .

 

“I’m at the pond,” she replies, finally.

 

“What the hell are you doing outside?” He sounds like he’s out of breath. In the background, she can hear some sounds – like he’s opened a door, like he’s jogging down some stairs.

 

“I couldn’t wait,” she says, truthfully.

 

She hears him sigh. “I’ll be out there in a sec. I’m getting my jacket.”

 

“Okay.” She hangs up without a further word. The time comes up on her phone.

 

12:39 am.

 

She shakes her head and puts her phone away, puts the note away.

 

She doesn’t turn when she eventually hears hollow steps on the boards. Peter sits down next to her, his ski jacket zipped up to his chin, legs hanging over the edge of the dock. “It’s nice out here,” he says, after a while.

 

“Yup,” she says, quietly, staring straight ahead.

 

Peter sighs, then says, “I just wanted to tell her it was over. For real. No more of this back and forth bullshit.”

 

Lara Jean looks at him, careful. “For real?”

 

“Yeah. For real.” He eyes her. “What? Don’t believe me?”

 

She shrugs her shoulders, looks up at the night sky. At all the stars twinkling down on them, perfect and tiny and immutable. “I dunno,” she says, honestly. “I - um - I guess I don’t understand the two of you? Like I guess I don’t understand this ... hold ... she has.”

 

“Had.”

 

“Has,” she repeats, when Peter scoffs.

 

“I guess you don’t,” he finally admits, after a while. “You’re this - I dunno - this nice, innocent girl and -”

 

Lara Jean, startled, groans, “Don’t say that.”

 

He frowns. “What? Huh?”

 

“That,” she says, annoyed. “First Josh, now you. I may be dense but I’m not stupid or lame or -”

 

“What does Sanderson have anything to do with it?” Peter snaps, and Lara Jean looks at him, realizing. He’s jealous.

 

“Nothing,” she says, calmly. “He’s got nothing to do with nothing. I’m just saying ...” She stops, sighs. “I don’t even know what I’m saying, anymore.” Frustrated, she flops down on the dock, crosses her arms.

 

After a moment, she feels him nudge her with his leg. “C’mon, Covey. Fight Club, right?”

 

_It’s so cool we can talk to each other about real stuff._

 

Isn’t this how it really started? Not the letter getting out, or agreeing to fake date. It was this. Being real with each other – over late night French fries, cleaning up after a hearty pasta dinner.

 

“I guess,” she says, slowly, “that I feel like I’m second best. Or fake best. Whatever.”

 

He looks surprised. “You were never second best,” he says, and she rolls her eyes at the tone of his voice, like he’s wondering why she could even think that.

 

“Come on, Peter, and you call me dense?” she says. “That’s why you chose her over me.”

 

“When did I do that?”

 

“Just now! In the hall!”

 

“Covey! I just told you I did that to tell her it was over.” He sighs, frustrated.

 

Lara Jean shakes her head. He doesn’t understand – how it looked like. How it felt like. He’s got his legs propped up, elbows on his knees, shaking his head at the pond.

 

“You could’ve told her then,” she points out.

 

“No, I couldn’t have,” he says. He lies down next to her - crosses his arms across his chest too. Lara Jean is busy counting stars when he finally says, low, “If I tell you something, you swear not to tell anyone else?”

 

He sounds too serious to be joking. “Of course. Yeah.”

 

“‘Kay.” He pauses, clears his throat. “Everything got screwed up with me and Gen. When things at home started getting bad for her” – Lara Jean, curious, looks at him, but he doesn’t elaborate, and she just waits – “she used to say that I was the only person who got her, would ever get her. But then – I dunno. I guess I kinda always knew she didn’t really get . . . me.”

 

Peter shifts, turns his head to look at her. Lara Jean swallows, and when he takes her hand, she settles her head against his shoulder, listening.

 

“The thing is, I think she was right. About me being the only one to get her.” He pauses, then says, “Swear?”

 

“I swear,” she whispers, heart thumping.

 

“Her dad is an asshole. Like a piece of shit. He’s always cheating on her mom. And - and Gen ... sometimes when it gets real bad, she hurts herself. Cuts. Not lately, but ...”

 

Horrified, Lara Jean sits up.

 

“Don’t go telling –” Peter starts to say, sitting up as well.

 

But she says, “Peter, that’s serious. She needs help.”

 

He looks at her, and she realizes it’s with relief, and she wonders for long he’s sat with this knowledge, and she knows it’s probably been too long.

 

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I know. I _know._ But - that’s why I had to make sure she was okay with - you know, us.” He snorts. “You know how you said I was being mean? On the bus. You were right. I started this whole bullshit thing to make her jealous, make me look good. Make her realize if I wasn’t around, then . . . but then . . . I didn’t expect . . .”

 

“Didn’t expect what?” she murmurs. The butterflies are back, fluttering in her ribcage.

 

He gives her a look – like she’s being dense again. She presses her lips together in a firm line, a rueful smile ghosting across her features before she leans forward, her forehead against his mouth.

 

And then he says, gruff, but sure, “For someone to get _me_.”

 

She closes her eyes, grips her hand, tight, around the collar of his jacket. Even with this knowledge, there’s a trace of guilt. Suddenly Gen doesn't seem so scary or mean anymore. Just sad. “Have you ever tried to get her help?”

 

“Yeah, but she never listens.” He sighs, pulls away, looks off. Rests an elbow on his knee and thumbs his bottom lip as he thinks. “I dunno. It’s kinda weird, but it was like - kinda nice being needed, you know? At least I was good for something.” And the way his voice hardens, she knows, on instinct, he’s thinking about his dad. “Pretty messed up, huh?” he says, wryly.

 

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “When ... when my mom died, it was just us. But Kitty was so little. And suddenly, it was me and Margot taking care of her. Making sure everything was ok. Being there for her. And not just her, but Dad. It _is_ nice to be needed like that, in a way. Never thought what it did to us, though.” She pauses again, because she remembers the look on Margot’s face at the funeral. The determination there. The resignation. “Or Margot. Margot got it the worst of all.”

 

And that’s why Lara Jean couldn’t talk to Margot. She was lying to everyone. She couldn’t - can’t - lie to Margot. And she could never, ever disappoint her, either.

 

“I dunno,” Peter says. “Sounds like you got the short end of the stick, too.”

 

She shakes her head. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

 

“No, damn, Covey, you’re pretty messed up,” Peter says, deadpan, and she snorts.

 

“Speak for yourself,” she says, mock-insulted, and he snickers, and bumps his shoulder with hers. She sits back on her hands, and he does the same, and they look up at the sky together, side-by-side.

 

“You’re not gonna try and bail on me again?”

 

She looks side-long at him, but he’s still staring up at the stars, all ease and nonchalance, but she suddenly sees through all that, and realizes, achingly, that he’s not just talking about her trying to get out of the ski trip, and why he’d started with only notes.

 

He’d accused her of being scared. Now she knows why he was, too.

 

“No,” she says, turning back to the sky again. Another shooting star slices past, and she gasps, and grabs his hand, to point with it. He makes a surprised “Hey!” sound, in wonder, and she moves closer, snuggles into his side. He puts his arm around her shoulders. “No, I’m not,” she whispers, eyes still upward, searching for more shooting stars.

 

*

 

“It’s not that I think they’re _awful_ ,” Peter says, as they walk back to the lodge. “I just think – you know – the texture takes some getting used to.”

 

“You can say they’re awful, I won’t hate you,” Lara Jean laughs.

 

“ . . . Lychee flavor is just not my cup of tea. Maybe another flavor, something else . . .”

 

“Kitty told you to get them for me because she’s obsessed with them. They’re just okay, in my opinion.”

 

“Oh. Well, in that case, jelly candy cups are awful,” Peter says, and she bursts out laughing. “Shh!” he hushes her, as they go through the side entrance and make their way to the fire exit stairs. “Don’t you know how to sneak around?”

 

“No,” she admits, almost shy.

 

He shakes his head at her, puts his arm around her shoulders and squeezes as they trudge up to her floor. “Stick with me kid, we’re going places.”

 

“To the third floor?” she giggles, a little slap-happy at the late hour, and possibly still buzzed from the beer.

 

“To the third floor,” he agrees, and she laughs harder, which of course, makes him laugh.

 

At her door, she swipes her keycard, pushes the handle down and the door open, but then turns back to him. He pulls her in for a last kiss, her foot still keeping the door open. Her cheeks and nose are still cold from being out – so are his. “Good night, Lara Jean,” he murmurs, when they break apart. She’s staring up at him, wide-eyed, smile soft, almost adoring – and he suddenly wonders why the hell he even said good night.

 

“Good ni – ” she’s about to say, when there’s a noise at the end of the hall, and they turn and see someone exiting their room – and _shit_ it’s one of the chaperones – and she pulls him inside her room, hissing, “Get in, come on.”

 

The lights are off – they stay hunched by the door. “Maybe she didn’t – ” he starts to whisper, but then there’s a knock at the door.

 

“Lara Jean?” It sounds like Ms. Davenport.

 

Lara Jean grimaces. “Uh . . . yes?”

 

“Could you open up, please?”

 

Frantic, Lara Jean shoves Peter towards one of the beds. “Pretend to be Chris!” she whispers.

 

“What the _fu_ – ”

 

“Just get under the covers!” To Ms. Davenport, she calls, “Just a second!”

 

Peter grabs the edge of the covers of the nearest bed and jumps in. He hears Lara Jean run over to the closet, and then, after rummaging around for a second, head to the door.

 

“What’s wrong, Ms. Davenport?” he hears her ask, after she opens the door. “Why are you up so late?”

 

“We do checks through the night. I thought I saw . . .”

 

“Chris is asleep,” Lara Jean blurts out.

 

There’s a really long pause, before Ms. Davenport says, seriously, “Well, I hope so Lara Jean. I’ve heard things about her. I’d really hate for her to be a bad influence on you. Or, you know, other people.”

 

Under the blanket, Peter frowns.

 

“She isn’t,” Lara Jean says, quietly. “No one is.”

 

There’s another long pause. “Okay, sweetie. Have a good night.”

 

“Good night.”

 

The door clicks shut. Peter waits a few beats before he pushes off the covers and turns on the bedside lamp. He shrugs out of his ski jacket as Lara Jean sits down on the bed next to him, wearing one of the hotel bathrobes, legs bare. He raises his eyebrows at the quick change in wardrobe.

 

“I had to make her think I was in bed asleep,” she explains.

 

“And you said you didn’t know how to sneak around.” He nudges her bare leg with his own. “Well, I like the change.”

 

She blushes but doesn’t say anything.

 

“Where’s Chris anyway?”

 

“Probably with Charlie,” she replies. “She never replied to my texts. I hope she’s fine.”

 

“Why _do_ you hang out with her?” he asks, curious. “I mean, you two are so different. You’re like, the nice, good girl. And she’s . . .” He stops when he sees Lara Jean’s annoyed look.

 

Lara Jean shrugs, crosses her arms over her chest. “I dunno,” she says, a little wonderingly. “Any different than you and me?”

 

“That’s not the same thing,” Peter protests. He hadn’t liked what Ms. Davenport was implying, about other people being a bad influence on her. When they first started this fake dating thing, a lot of the guys he’d hung out with were surprised. Not because they didn’t think Lara Jean wasn’t pretty or hot enough or whatever – no one had the balls to tell him that, actually, because that would be lies. But Greg had flat out told him Lara Jean didn’t seem like his type. (“What the hell’s my type?” “ . . . Not. You know. Nice girls.” “What the hell does that even mean?” “Exactly what I said. She’s, you know. Nice.”) At first, he thought Greg had meant it as a slam against Gen.

 

But then things started . . . well, snowballing, between him and Covey, and he’d started noticing that the dirty looks from Sanderson may not have been exactly jealousy – but contempt. Like that freaking loser thought that maybe Peter was the actual loser.

 

That Lara Jean was too good.

 

(For him.)

 

“Well, is it so different?” Lara Jean’s saying now. “I guess we just get each other, the way girls get each other.” She smiles, sweet and happy, and takes his hand. “And now I have another person who gets me, too.” Then she pauses, frowning. “I mean, not in the way girls get each other, but, you know, in the way that - ”

 

“You can stop now,” he laughs, at her fumbling, because he understands – and because with just a few words, she’s made him feel better again, in a way no one else does, or can. She huffs, but leans in and gives him a kiss – and another – damp and soft-lipped – and another – and before he can stop either of themselves, he’s pulled her on top of him, onto the bed.

 

She’s got both legs straddling his waist, her hands running through his hair, and _god_ she smells nice, winter night air and coconuts, and then his hand goes up, underneath the edge of the robe – skims over her hip, the lace of her panties – _shit she’s not even wearing shorts_ \- and up her sides, her ribcage – _no shirt, fuck_ – and it takes every ounce of willpower in him not to grind his hips up to hers, when his thumbs start to slide up, over the softness of skin to the curve of satin.

 

Peter breaks the kiss, tries to calm down. Lara Jean’s pauses, but then starts trailing her open mouth down the line of his jaw, towards his ear. He just barely stops himself from groaning before he regretfully lets go of her. “I – um – better go,” he mutters.

 

“Huh?” she murmurs, dazed.

 

“You know. Before we – I – ” She looks at him, hurt, confused, and he sighs, and says, a bit begrudgingly, “I don’t want to be that bad influence.”

 

Her brows knit, and then she slowly, tenderly, puts both of her hands on his face. “You’re not,” she whispers, and kisses him . . . a gentle, sweet kiss, that somehow sets every part of him on fire. “You never could be. You don’t bring me down. You – you brought me out.” And then she whispers, her voice tiny, small, like she’s scared again, “You’re not gonna bail on me, either, are you?”

 

His mouth goes dry. His hands rest, twitching, on the already loosened ties of her robe – it’s parted to V, and he can see the swell of her chest, the pink floral pattern on cream satin. He swallows, and looks at her – her half-lidded eyes, shining in the dull lamplight, and swollen-lips parted slightly, nervous.

 

And then there’s really nothing he can say to reply, because he’s too far gone, has been for a while, with her. Nothing to say but the truth, and mean it, completely and totally.

 

“Never,” he murmurs, and she smiles at him, slight but genuine – squeezes his hands . . . and then pulls at her belt, and leans down to kiss him again.

 

-tbc-

**Author's Note:**

> FYI - For those of you who read my other series and like to download copies, I've made corrections (typos, mistakes, casting news for the second movie etc.) accordingly.


End file.
